


Have a Valentine's Felony

by Corycides



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Multi, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-20 13:44:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6008863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dating a Matheson is never easy, but this year Bass knows just what to get to make their Valentine's Day...and get what he's always wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JaqofSpades](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaqofSpades/gifts), [romeokijai](https://archiveofourown.org/users/romeokijai/gifts).



It wasn’t the first time that Miles had woken and not been entirely sure where he was or how he’d got there. A drinking habit - it was only a fucking problem when Rachel was around - and a streak of self-destruction led to waking up in some odd situation. This wasn’t even the first time he’d woken up to find that he was tied up.

The fact he was naked, gagged, and had a ribbon tied around his balls was new. And weird.

Miles swallowed the mothballs and dust taste in his mouth, running his tongue around his teeth, and tested his restraints. Metal dug into his wrists, cold and sharp, and the chain rattled against the wooden headboard.

A sneer curled his mouth under the cloth. It was amateur hour. He wouldn’t even have to break anything to get free. Nothing belonging to him anyhow. The thought of breaking someone’s face with his fist coiled anticipatory heat through the black, boozy hollow of his chest, followed by a sick cramp of self-loathing.

The war - the wars - were over. He didn’t have to fight anymore, didn’t have to kill to protect Bass or Charlie or Rachel. Except it turned out that he fucking hated farming - days spent with his face in the dirt or in the ass-hand of a cow - and he wasn’t suited for peace. It bored him. It pissed him off. Being sheriff had seemed like the perfect solution, but it turned out he hated people - and their whining about wandering pigs and wanking neighbours - even more.

When the war was over, there should be somewhere for old soldiers to go and die.

He took his frustrations on the headboard, yanking at the carved dowels until he felt the wood crack. A hot breath squeezed out of his chest and he slouched back into the pillows, catching his breath and waiting for feeling to come back into his fingers. The sound of footsteps on the stairs interrupted him and he went still, mind weighing and discarding options and outcomes.

Two sets of footsteps on the stair - one lighter than the other - and the sound of voices murmuring on the stairs. His brain caught something familiar in cadence, but he couldn’t quite tweeze out what. It wasn’t just the voices, it was the interplay, the interruptions.

Who’d he know well enough to recognise their muttering, and was stupid enough to pull this sort of shit?

The answer to half of that question was obvious, even before Bass and whatever slapper he’d picked up at the bar tumbled into the room. Her shirt was up over her head, laughter muffled in the folds of it, as Bass bit kisses down her throat. His hands slid down the toned length of her back, thumb grazing the scar on her shoulder blade, to the tight denim-covered curve of her ass.

Miles glared at his brother, mutely promising death and dismemberment. He knew that Bass was only trying to cheer him up - that he’d been a miserable fuck since he broke up with Rachel - but he was a psychopath with no idea about boundaries, and this had gone too far.

The dick took his hand off the girl’s ass long enough to hold up a finger - the ‘give me a minute’ gesture, not the other one - and the girl finally got her t-shirt off and tossed it into the corner of the room. A heavy mass of honey-blonde hair spilled down a narrow back, the curled ends catching on Bass’ hands.

No. Miles clenched his hands into fists so tight his battered knuckles ache. It was a look-a-like, just another stand-in for whoever Miles was fucking that week. It wasn’t…

Slim, practical hands caught Bass’ face, holding him in place as she kissed him. ‘I told you,’ Charlie said, voice caught between frustration and amusement. ‘I don’t need chocolates, just stop talking and fuck me.’

Miles clenched his jaw and closed his eyes, trying not to… The ribbon around his balls tightened as his cock thickened, the shaft lifting up off his stomach. It didn’t matter how hard he lied to himself. he knew what he wanted. He opened his eyes, since not looking wasn’t working maybe seeing it would. 

‘Are you sure about that, Charlotte?’ Bass asked, twisting his fingers in her hair. He glanced at Miles over her shoulder, pale eyes intent with lust. ‘I got you a present, tied it up in a bow and everything.’

‘If you’ve got me a puppy, you’re taking it back,’ Charlie grumbled, letting him turn her around. ‘I told you: no nesting, no commitment, just fun and…’

Her voice trailed off as she saw Miles, stretched out on the bed like a pervert’s feast. He strained against the handcuffs, the muscles in his shoulders pulling tight under his skin, and mumbled something behind the gag. It was just stifled noises, but Bass knew him well enough to hear the death threat. Instead of doing the sensible thing and running for it, he wrapped his arms around Charlie and pulled her back against him. His hands, wearing the same scars and battered knuckles that Miles had, spread over the flat of her stomach.

‘See?’ Bass said. ‘I told you I could get you what wanted.’

Charlie blinked - briefly shocked - then a wicked smile curved her mouth. She tilted her head to the side and ran appreciative eyes over his body, from his lean scarred thighs to his scarred shoulders. Six foot of torn up, fucked up uncle. She should have recoiled, disgusted at them both. Instead her eyes lingered appreciatively at his cock, sharp teeth folding the curve of her lower lip between her teeth.

‘I gotta give it to you, Bass,’ she said, wriggling out of Bass’ arms and walking towards the bed. Miles tried - like he always fucking tried - to be disgusted, to reject her. Instead, his eyes lingered on the soft, bare curve of her breasts. Her fingers trailing over his arm sent reaction twitching and zapping under his skin, his nerves arching under her touch like a cat. ‘I didn’t think you’d get Miles to agree to-’

She stopped. He glared at her. They both glared at Bass. Since Miles was still gagged, only one of them got to speak.

‘Bass, he did agree, right?’ she asked.

Crossing his arms, Bass leaned back against the door. His cock was pressing against the fly of his jeans, obvious against aged denim. He shrugged one shoulder and grinned, that brilliant, broken grin of his. 

‘Miserable bastard would only have said no,’ he said.


	2. Chapter 2

  
  


His tongue felt like a wad of dry flannel stuffed into his mouth. Miles swallowed hard, working his tongue around behind his teeth, and waited. Charlie had shrugged her shirt back on - and damn him for that pang of disappointment as he lost sight of her breasts - and gone to get whiskey. ‘One way or another,’ she’d said dryly, ‘we’re probably going to need it.

 

Bass tossed the twist of wet fabric into the bin and tucked his knife back into his belt. He didn’t look sorry. Not yet. 

 

‘Really? Nothing to say?’ he asked. ‘That’s a first.’

 

‘I’m waiting for you to untie me,’ Miles said thickly. He flexed his hands, still neatly cuffed to the headboard, and listened to the metal rattle. ‘Then you get to explain what the hell game you think you’re playing.’

 

Bass grinned, all white teeth and bright, crinkled eyes. It looked real, like a man with something to live for, but Miles knew better. Or he should, if anyone did. 

 

‘C’mon, Miles,’ he said. ‘You’d think we’d never played this game before. Remember that girl in Chicago…’

 

His teeth were so tightly clenched that his jaw hurt, an ache spreading out from the hinge and up into his skull like a migraine. He rattled the cuffs against the headboard again, making the wood creak and groan.

 

‘Not her name, no,’ he said flatly. ‘Know why? Because she wasn’t my  _ fucking niece.’ _

 

‘Interesting turn of phrase,’ Bass said. He sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight, and ran a callused hand down Miles arm. His fingers followed the lean twist of muscle to his shoulder, the rough pad of his thumb finding the tender stretch of skin behind his armpit. It twitched reaction down Miles’ spine to his balls, a hot wire of want old and new. ‘Who are you trying to fool, Miles? Rachel or Charlie? I know it’s not me.’

 

Of course not. They knew each other too well, all the secrets and rotten cavities that had festered since they were kids together. It was the thing that Rachel had never  _ got.  _ She could hate Bass - sometimes Miles did too - but she couldn’t  _ despise  _ him and love Miles. They were the same - they’d committed the same crimes, told the same lies, and they wanted the same thing.

 

‘You said you hadn’t touched her.’

 

‘Jealous?’

 

Maybe. And wasn’t that fucked up. Ben had sent his kid to ask Miles for help, he’d trusted him to keep her safe...and Miles couldn’t even do that without making it into something  _ twisted.  _ He’d wanted Charlie since she’d come into his bar, and even if he couldn’t have her…

 

And Bass was right, who was he trying to fool? He could have had Charlie, he’d  _ known _ that. The way she looked at him sometimes, the catch in her breath when he got close - if he’d made the move she’d have fallen into his arms. Except he hadn’t, and Bass had.

 

‘She deserves better.’ Than either of them, than both of them.

 

There was a pause and then Bass grimaced, his mouth turning in a wry twist that was more honest than the grin. ‘I know.’ He kissed Miles, his breath hot with rye and lust. It had been - a long time. Since before Miles had left, since Nora had given him an excuse to keep his own bed warm for once. If Miles had been better man it would have been a kiss flavoured with disappointment and disillusionment. The knowledge that what they had was dead now.

 

Except he wasn’t, and it wasn’t. Miles groaned into Bass’ mouth, arching up against his body since he couldn’t use his hands. His cock was so hard it ached, that fucking bow scratching at the tender skin of his balls. 

 

‘So, I guess you started without me,’ Charlie said dryly. ‘I am still invited, or you two want some alone time?’

 

Bass lifted his head, rubbing his thumb over his lower lip. He kept his attention on Miles even as he tossed his answer to Charlie over his shoulder. ‘I guess that’s up to Miles. What’s it going to be, have some fun or spoil Charlie’s Valentine’s Day.’

 

‘Your Valentine’s Day,’ Charlie said, walking around the end of the bed. The bottle of whiskey dangled from her hand. ‘I just want to get laid - the complications were your idea.’

 

‘Fine, romance is dead,’ Bass said, rolling his eyes at her. She smirked back, mouth wicked and...fuck it...fond.

 

‘If I say no,’ Miles said. ‘If I get uncuffed, kicked Bass’ balls up round his ears, and walk out of here...are you coming with me?’

 

Charlie set the whiskey down on the bedside table, bottle clicking against the wood. ‘Miles, I’m not a little kid. I get to make my own bad decisions and Bass is it. Right now.’

 

‘Because he reminds you of me?’

 

That was a jab at Bass. The bastard deserved it. Miles wasn’t entirely sure which of them should be insulted when Charlie laughed at the suggestion.

 

‘Yeah, no, that’s not it,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘Look, Miles, I’m sorry - this was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have told General Inappropriate Reactions here anything. Lesson learned, right?’

 

Bass leaned down and growled in Miles’ ear, the words for him and the smirk for Charlie. ‘Ignore her, she loves my inappropriate reactions.’

 

It was stupid - pointless - but Miles’ couldn’t stop his brain churning bitterly over every time he’d seen Charlie jog in late to a briefing, or Bass make his excuses to leave a bar five minutes after Charlie had called it a night. How many times had they been fucking while Miles sat and drank his own misery?

 

Not fair. He fucking knew that. What had Charlie been meant to say?  _ ‘Hey, Uncle Miles, want to cheat on my mom and have a threesome with me and the guy we’re all meant to hate?’ _ It didn’t matter though, it still pissed him off. Charlie was  _ his _ girl and Bass was  _ his  _ oldest friend. They were the only times that came back for him, no matter how many times or how badly he fucked up and let them down.

 

It wasn’t healthy, none of this was healthy for fuck’s sake. They were all he had, though, and if he couldn’t be a  _ good  _ man then at least he could make the most out of being a bad one.

 

‘Uncuff me,’ he said, voice scraping in his throat.

 

The flicker of disappointment on Charlie’s face made his cock even harder, but she nodded her agreement. One hand extended over his chest to Bass, fingers curling in mute demand. He caught her wrist and kissed her fingers, ignoring Miles’ snarl, before depositing the key in her palm.

 

She leaned over him, stomach pressed against his shoulder, and uncuffed first one wrist and then the other. He let his arms drop back onto the bed, clenching his fists to work the blood back into tingling fingers. Safe, sane, and consensual was a great mantra, but Bass came to the game missing one of those attributes. 

‘Miles,’ Charlie said, sitting back. ‘I-’ 

 

For the first time she looked like the kid who’d come begging to his bar in Chicago, all big blue eyes and uncertainty. So he did what he’d wanted to do that first day, what he probably would have done with a bit more whiskey and without the eagle-eyed stepmom watching him, and dragged her down to taste that smart, sweet mouth of hers. It was a hard kiss, two years of broken promises to himself scraping against their lips as he drank her in.

 

For a second, she was still with surprise. Then she laughed against his mouth and twisted her fingers in his hair as she kissed him back. It was Bass who growled in his ear, voice low and dark with being a smug bastard. ‘You owe me, Miles.’

 

It wasn’t the first time they’d done it. Jasper. Chicago. St Louis. A dozen late-night hookups in cheap motels, where whatever girl they’d picked up made it ok to be naked, to touch, to fuck. The ‘it wasn’t gay if there was a pair of tits and a vagina in the room’. After they’d worked out they could just touch each other’s cocks and no one was going to bust in and take away their balls, it had tapered off. They’d both had women - girlfriends, one night stands, fucked up betrayals of your brother - but not together. It had been too weird - half possessive of each other, half competitive over the woman.

 

That’d probably be a problem, but it wasn’t one that Miles was going to worry about.

 

Charlie shimmed out of her clothes, helped by both sets of hands. She was all toned, long muscle and soft flesh, shivering under the brush of Miles’ hand along the inside of her thigh. Long, blonde hair hung over her shoulder in heavy, old gold tangles. Strands curled around the taut bud of her nipple, making it pucker and stand proud of the tanned skin.

 

‘Just one night,’ he said. 

 

Even he knew it was a lie. Charlie shrugged and leaned down to kiss him, sharp teeth nipping at the curve of his mouth. 

 

‘I don’t need promises,’ she said. ‘I’m not asking you guys to marry me.’

 

Bass laughed roughly. ‘C’mon, Charlie, it’d be fun,’ he said, kissing her shoulder. His hands cupped her arms like she was something fragile. ‘Imagine the look on the Mother of the Bride’s face? Or this miserable sod trying to find a friend outside this room to be his best man.’

 

‘Oh, and you’re coming down with them?’ Miles said. A jibe about Baker stung the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed it. There were too many razors there to bring it out in bed. ‘Unless Jimmy King was a personable bastard, this room contains pretty much the only people that don’t want you dead.’

 

Charlie bit her way down Miles’ neck, teeth dragging along a thread of scar that tangled around his collarbone. Her mouth moved against his skin, curving into a not-quite smile.

 

‘Speak for yourself,’ she said.

 

It was a joke, although one with teeth, but Miles saw the sharp slice of doubt and  _ need _ cross Bass’ face. Not that he didn’t deserve it, after everything, but doubt and Bass were a toxic combination. When he wasn’t sure of himself, he broke things so that you needed to stay around to fix them.

 

Miles reached up and hooked his hand around Bass’ nape, dragging him down into a kiss over Charlie’s shoulder. She purred, stretching out between them like warm honey, and grabbed a kiss from the corner of Bass’ mouth as he broke away from Miles. 

 

‘Charlie,’ Miles groaned as she shifted on top of him, his cock sliding between her legs. She was wet and slick as velvet, the ache to be inside her a cramp from his knees to his heart. With a smug look, her lower lip caught caught between her teeth, Charlie rocked against him again.

 

If she wanted him to beg, he would. She just - Miles swore raggedly behind his teeth as his balls ached like they’d been kicked - had to stop doing that long enough for him to get his words back. Bass tugged her back against him, one hand cupping her breast and the other sliding down the taut line of her stomach. Her muscles twitched under the rasp of callused fingers and she leaned back into him, trusting his hands on her.

 

Miles lay back and watched, struggling to keep hold of his patience and follow Bass’ lead. He unwrapped the ribbon from around his balls, balling it up in his fist and tossing it, and wrapped his fingers around his cock. The slow drag of his fingers against the thin, tender skin pulled heat tight between his legs, come wet under his fingers as he swiped them over the head.

 

She gasped and moved against Bass’ hand, rolling her hips against the fingers buried inside her. Colour flushed under her skin, staining the soft curve of her breasts and the curve of her cheekbones. Her head rested against his shoulder, but her eyes stayed focused on Miles as he touched himself.

 

Charlie came, arching and eager, under his hands. Then she sprawled the honey-warm length of herself over Miles, murmuring her fantasies into his ear as thrust up into her. She was tight around his cock, her body still trembling and eager from her first orgasm, and she tangled her fingers in between his as she rolled her hips down to meet him.

 

He kissed the slope of her breast, tongue and teeth exploring the spray of cinnamon gilt freckles, and told her in explicit, filthy words what Bass was doing behind her. The way his fingers gripped his cock, twisting around the hard rise of flesh, and the way he looked at them.

 

Then Bass positioned himself behind her, reaching between their legs to cup Miles’ balls and stroke the wet folds of Charlie’s sex. His hand slid backwards, shoulder working as his fingers worked slick and deep into her. 

 

Charlie tightened her fingers around Miles’ hands, her fingertips digging in between his knuckles, and swore warm and wet against his throat.

 

‘Blanchard wants me to go to California,’ Bass said, bracing his arm next to Miles’ shoulder. Muscles tightened like cords from his wrist to his shoulder, twisting strangely around the vicious smear of scar tissue on his forearm. He pushed into Charlie, the weight of him pressing them down into the mattress. Miles could feel Bass’ cock pressing against his, sliding deeper inside Charlie as if it was another competition.  ‘Charlie’s coming with me.’

 

Lifting her head out of Miles shoulder, Charlie snorted through a tangled veil of gold. ‘Didn’t ask me.’

 

‘Didn’t need to,’ Bass said, dragging her hair back out of her face with one hand and swiping a claiming kiss over the swell of her lips. ‘Just telling him.’

 

Charlie laughed, biting her lip hard as Bass thrust again.

 

It wasn’t anything careful. It was heat and need, Charlie’s teeth marking his shoulder and the old, familiar rhythm between Miles and Bass. They fucked on the narrow bed in the Texas hot room, and if it was a sin at least it was one that made Miles  _ feel  _ something. More than any virtue he’d chased for Rachel ever had.

 

Afterwards they lay in a tangle of sex, sweat, and tangled limbs they couldn’t be bothered to untangle just yet. It was Charlie who moved first, grumbling they were squashing her as she planted a very sharp elbow into Bass’ ribs to get him to move. When Bass growled and rolled off the bed, scratching his sweat matted balls as he padded into the bathroom, Miles ran a finger down the nape of Charlie’s neck.

 

‘Why?’ he asked again. ‘Why Bass.’

 

Charlie lifted her head, resting her chin on her forearm. ‘I guess,’ she said slowly, ‘if I wasn’t going to kill him, I had to…’

 

‘Love him?’

 

She scowled at him. ‘I’d not go that far.’

 

He leaned his head back against the thin pillows and stared at the roof. ‘And me, and I’m invited to California, kid?’

  
She shrugged and kissed the point of his chin. ‘It’s sweet you think Bass is giving you a choice.’


End file.
